


let it be christmas

by BuddysImpala



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst for EVERYONE :D, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barnum Angst, Barnum is really going through it, Character Death, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Holiday Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, My annual Christmas fic is here 👀, PT needs a hug, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phillip Angst, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Winter, barlyle - Freeform, bisexual circus dads, circus troupe - Freeform, happy holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddysImpala/pseuds/BuddysImpala
Summary: Phillip hasn’t celebrated Christmas since he was eight years old.
Relationships: Charity Barnum/P.T. Barnum (past), P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	let it be christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song Let It Be Christmas by Alan Jackson! One of my favorites 😌

When he was three, he was gifted a toy locomotive for Christmas. It was sleek and black and, to his three year old eyes, the biggest toy train he’d ever seen.

His father boxed it up and gave it to the five year old son of an acquaintance. Said that Thomas — the boy — showed more promise at five than his measly three year old son ever would.

When he himself was five, he was gifted a storybook collection. Multiple books, telling tales of noble princes and lovely girls with long, golden hair. He loved curling in his mother’s lap, listening to her soothing voice. Many a nights, he would fall asleep this way.

His father used the storybooks as kindling for a fire. Said that fairytales were for sissies, and, “No son of mine will grow up with his head in the clouds.”

When he was eight, his father forbade gift-giving altogether. Said that Phillip was a spoiled brat, it was time to grow up, he needed to “start learning about the real world.”

That was the last year the Carlyles ever celebrated Christmas.

*

While Phillip was in school, he mostly kept to himself, but he did make one close friend. A boy named Arthur Livingston, who, like Phillip, struggled to make his father happy. They met at age ten, and became fast friends.

When Phillip was sixteen, he decided that, this year, he would celebrate the holidays. Not with his family, no, but there was no harm in giving Arthur a little something.

He was Phillip’s closest friend, after all.

He could not spend his father’s money on a gift — that would raise too many questions, and unanswerable questions meant a close, personal visit with his father’s cane — but, he could make something. It was somewhat of a secret skill, but Phillip was quite good at making paper crafts.

And, he thought, a paper craft would go lovely with a poem. One he would write on his own — that, too, was a skill he was sharpening behind his father’s back. 

The poem was lovely. A true tale of friendship, some of his best work. Of course, he had to discard of some of the earlier drafts — too much rambling about the green emerald of Arthur’s eyes, he worried — but the final result honest-to-God filled him with pride.

And pride was not something Phillip came by easily.

A flower, perhaps, was not the wisest of paper gifts. But Phillip did not realize this until much later. Flowers were beautiful, and he wanted to give one to his friend. The only friend he’d ever had.

The last day before school let out for the winter holiday, Arthur and Phillip walked home together. This, Phillip thought, was the best time to give Arthur his gift. They likely wouldn’t see each other again until after school was back in session.

So, with a tentative smile curling at his lip, Phillip pulls Arthur to a stop. Arthur frowns in confusion and fidgets nervously. 

“Phil, I have to get home. Father will—“

“I know,” Phillip nods. “I’ll only be a moment. I just wanted... to give you your Christmas gift.”

At this, Arthur falls silent. He’s intrigued.

Smiling, cheeks tinged just a little pink, absolutely bursting with pride for perhaps the first time in his life, Phillip finds the poem and the flower, carefully tucked into his bag. He hands them off to Arthur, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

Arthur’s eyes widen. The hand that’s suddenly holding the flower shakes.

He merely skims the paper, eyes flicking past the careful calligraphy, before looking up at Phillip. His cheeks are red.

“Father was right,” he spits. “You are  _sick_ .”

Phillip is left alone, poem crumpled and flower tattered at his feet.

Arthur never speaks to him again.

*

Now, he sits around the fireplace in Barnum’s office with the troupe. His life since joining a circus led by a man with his head in the clouds has been nothing short of a whirlwind, but he doesn’t suppose he would have it any other way.

A mug of steaming hot chocolate warms his palms and he smiles, almost snorting with laughter into his drink, as Lettie tells one of her tales. They’re almost as outrageous as Barnum’s — not quite there, but she certainly gives the man a run for his money.

He had never celebrated Christmas until joining the circus. 

Now, he sits around family.

They each sit with a present in lap. Nobody has yet opened theirs... no one knows where to start.

Every gift is from Barnum, and the reason why goes unspoken.

From across the room, peals of laughter pierce through the circus tent. Whatever Dog Boy and Constantine are doing to entertain Caroline and Helen, it seems to be working.

“Go on.” Phillip’s attention is drawn away from the girls and back to the man himself, the ringmaster in the middle of the circle. “Open them.”

“Barnum—“ Lettie starts.

Barnum clenches his jaw, eyes darting away.

Phillip joined the circus too late to meet Charity, Barnum’s wife, who passed after a long illness last winter. Barnum was determined to make Christmas as normal as possible for his girls, but it was clear that he was still hurting. Hurting and trying to cover it up. 

Phillip looks down at the gift in his lap, his first Christmas gift since before he was eight years old. He picks at the bow, as red and magnificent as Barnum’s ringmaster coat, but can’t bring himself to tear into the wrapping paper.

He looks back up, eyes meeting Barnum’s.

“What?” the ringmaster snaps. “Not good enough for you, Carlyle?”

He doesn’t mean it, and his voice cracks before he can ask the question in its entirety. Still, Phillip hasn’t the chance to respond before Barnum rises and storms out of the room.

Everybody falls silent.

Even the laughter coming from the girls’ side of the room ceases.

Helen’s eyes are wide and teary, and she clings to Dog Boy’s hand.

Caroline whispers, “Daddy’s not okay, is he?”

It sounds like it’s supposed to be a question, but Phillip doesn’t think it is.

“It’s all right,” he speaks, standing up. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Phillip,” Caroline calls before he can leave the room.

He stops, looks at her.

“Take the present,” she insists. “He might want you to have it.”

Phillip isn’t sure what good the present will do, but he doesn’t argue with her. Instead, he flashes a smile he hopes is reassuring and swoops the present up before leaving the troupe behind.

Phillip didn’t see where Barnum went...but it quickly becomes apparent he is no longer in or around the tent.

The only other place he could have disappeared to so quickly are the docks right by the circus grounds.

Two days before Christmas Eve, it is an unusual December for upstate New York. Cold and blustery, colder still the closer he gets to water, but no snow. Not even a patch of ice, though the ground itself is hard and brittle.

Phillip is cursing himself for forgetting a heavier coat or even a scarf. He keeps his head low, though the freezing wind chills his nose and the tips of his ears.

He spots Barnum sitting on the edge of a stretch of dock. It quickly becomes apparent that he’s not in a position to jump or otherwise harm himself, but he is hunched forward, face in his hands. Water splashes at the legs of the dock beneath his feet.

Though he doesn’t look ready to pitch himself into the ice water, he isn’t wearing any sort of protective clothing, either. He has to be freezing.

Phillip calls out, “Barnum!”

Barnum stiffens. Turns slowly as Phillip makes his way closer, but doesn’t otherwise move. He doesn’t say a word.

“Are you mad? You’ll freeze out here!” Phillip scolds.

And, no sooner are the words out of his mouth, he kicks himself. He didn’t come out here to yell at a man who entered adulthood while Phillip himself was still an infant.

Barnum seems to have the same thought and his lips twist into a bitter smirk. “Have you come to lecture me?”

“No, Barnum.” God damnit. Why must he always put his foot in his mouth? “I came to get you because your daughters are scared and confused, Barnum. They’re hurting as much as you are. They almost lost you once.”

The mention of the fire makes them both flinch.

Still, that smirk doesn’t leave Barnum’s lip. It’s far from the one that normally curls his lip, the one that Phillip simultaneously wants to smack right off his mouth and ki—

This smirk is bitter and cruel.

“I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know that.” Does he, though? “But, Barnum, think about it. You stormed off without explanation. You aren’t ever like this. Your girls don’t have any idea where you went. In their eyes, you could be anywhere.”

Barnum doesn’t have a response for that. 

“They just want their father home,” Phillip insists. A statement he has never once been able to relate to. “Please come home, Phineas.”

He inhales sharply at the sound of his given name out of Phillip’s mouth.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Phillip murmurs, softer now. “Please, Phin.”

Phineas’s lips part, but lets out only a small, feeble noise as he makes his way to his feet. Relieved, Phillip stands, too.

He thinks they are going to go home.

Phineas’s sudden grip on his wrist surprises him. It is very light, but enough to stop Phillip in his tracks as he tries to walk away. Confused, he lifts his gaze to Phineas’s face.

Phineas’s eyes are nervous and bright. They lock gazes for just a moment, the ringmaster’s gaze assessing, causing a heat to rise to Phillip’s cheeks as those honey whiskey eyes rake him over.

And then Phineas is kissing him.

Phillip makes a sound of surprise, not unlike a whimper, in his throat, and Phineas starts to pull away. But then Phillip is clutching him, one hand in his hair and the other clutching the front of his coat.

They’ve both forgotten the present, until—

Phillip yelps as the gift falls to the dock and Phineas pulls away, snickering. It isn’t his normal loud, hearty laughter, but the sound makes Phillip’s heart swell in his chest.

“I hope it wasn’t fragile,” Phillip murmurs, cheeks now red from things other than the cold. “I’m so sorry, I—“

“Phillip,” Phineas interrupts, “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“Your hair is so soft,” Phillip mutters.

This time when Phineas laughs, it sounds much more like the laughter Phillip is used to. Phillip’s face reddens even more and he ducks his head, looking away, anywhere but Phineas.

But then Phineas is cupping Phillip’s face in his hands, and Phillip’s eyes are wide as Phineas says, “Thank you. Truly, I needed that. I... I’m sorry about my behavior before. I’m ready to go see my girls.”

“You’re truly all right?” Phillip asks. 

This time, Phineas’s smile is much smaller, but just as genuine.

“I will be.”

*

Phillip whimpers as Phineas slips from him, leaving him aching and empty, and he trails after Phineas’s touch like a moth seeking flame. Phineas chuckles, kissing Phillip’s nose, with a whispered promise of, “I’ll be right back.”

Phineas squeezes Phillip’s hand, throws on a robe and a sleeping gown, and then he’s gone.

It’s one year to the day that Phillip followed Phineas out to the docks. One year since Phineas scared Phillip to death, one year since their first kiss.

And Phillip has never been happier in all his life.

Ellery, the wooden elephant that Phineas crafted and painted just for Phillip, stands proudly mounted atop the mantle. The end of his trunk is a little chipped, but overall he was lucky when he fell onto the dock — even luckier, still, that he hadn’t just fallen straight into the water. Phillip smiles at the memory, 

And,  _El_ , the poem that Phillip wrote just for Phineas in return, in honor of his new favorite elephant, is framed and displayed proudly right next to Ellery. Because Phineas does not scoff at Phillip’s plays or poetry.

He cherishes every single word.

Phillip is surprised when Phineas knocks at the bedroom door — they normally come and go as they please, they’ve nothing to hide. But the door opens only a crack, and Phineas peeks through, looking quite sheepish.

“Erm, Phil,” he smiles, “It seems there are a couple little girls out here who are quite eager to see you.”

“Phillip!” Helen’s delighted shriek cuts in before Phillip has a chance to respond, “Santa came! Santa came! Phillip, hurry!”

His eyes meet Phineas’s, still peeking through the door.

“Seems ol’ Saint Nick paid us a visit,” Phineas drawls with a grin.

Phillip laughs.

“All right,” he smiles, “Give me five minutes.”

As he makes quick work of dressing, he cannot help but think back to that night a year ago.

Phillip hasn’t the slightest clue whether Barnum would have actually slipped into the freezing water had he not come along. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ever want to find out.

Now, though, that is all behind them.

Now, Phineas is happy.

And now, Phillip dresses to spend Christmas with his family. His new family. Caroline and Helen and Phineas... Charity, too. Phillip never believed himself a spiritual man, but if there is any hope of loved ones lingering after they’ve passed on, he hopes that Charity can see what a good job they’re all doing.

Christmas is starting to feel like Christmas again.

And, for the first time in twenty-two years, Phillip absolutely cannot wait to celebrate.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very appreciated 😌
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!


End file.
